All the usual stuff about
you must be old enough in your jurisdiction, etc. In other
words,
if you are underage, don't read this unless you have a really cool
teacher who assigned it. Otherwise, come back in a few years,
when nobody will yell at you.

------------------------------

Although Mark had
been the one to suggest, or more accurately to insist, upon our "one
night," I took the initiative in planning a night that would be
memorable for us both. I made reservations at a romantic
restaurant that offered nouveau French cuisine. Even though my
son was still three years under the legal bar limit, I planned that we
would drive to a nearby town to visit a gay bar that I had been to a
couple of times when my wife had been out of town. I figured that
as long as neither of us ordered alcohol, nobody at the bar would
question our presence, especially on a Sunday night.

Mark came
down the stairs to the living room where I awaited him at 6:45 sharp.
He was dressed in a suit that his mother insisted he have in his
closet even though Mark and I both thought it was a waste of money,
given his dislike of anything even approaching formal.

I hadn't
seen him in a tie in quite a while. He looked stunning, handsome,
mature and surprisingly at ease in the unfamiliar attire. I
thought that my wife had been right for insisting after all.

Our
dinner was everything that I hoped it would be. The lighting set
a perfect mood and the single red rose in the middle of the table
complimented my son's beauty as I gazed past the flower into his manly
face. Mark picked up the flower from its vase as we were leaving.

As
I had anticipated, we had no problems at the gay bar. I help
Mark's hand as we entered and noticed dampness in his palms. He
was a bit nervous entering his first gay establishment just as so many
men of all ages had been before him.

He obviously tried to act
as if this was a common experience for him, but I watched his eyes dart
from one group of men to the next, lingering especially upon a younger
couple passionately kissing in a corner. We danced only twice;
once wildly gyrating and the next time held tightly against each other
caressing the other's back and shoulders. After that second
dance, we decided without speaking that it was time to return to the
privacy of our home.

We touched constantly during the drive.
Mark traced circles along the back of my neck. I ran my
hand through his dense hair and then caressed more than held his lovely
hand.

We entered the house through the front door. That seemed more fitting for a date than entering through the garage.

"Thank you, Dad," Mark said as he kissed me briefly. "That was perfect."

"You're in charge of the rest of the night," I told him.

He led me upstairs, as far as the doorway to his room.

"I'll meet you in the shower in a few minutes," he grinned.

"Your shower or mine?" I asked.

"Mine," he replied. "After all, I'm in charge now. I'm the host."

In
the shower I felt Mark in ways that few fathers do. My fingers
slowly explored every part of him, and I felt as if I knew him better
than I ever had before.

Mark, too, resisted any temptation he
might have had to rush. He paid particular attention to my chest,
perhaps because I had a light coat of dark hair there where he had
none. It seemed to fascinate him.

Only when the water flow
began to cool did we step out. We dried each other as leisurely
as we had cleansed. Although our towels prevented skin to skin
contact, the procedure did not lack its erotic air, probably because we
never lost eye contact.

While the location was identical to our
morning tryst, the atmosphere as we entered my son's room was
completely different. I noticed that the red rose from dinner had
its own place of honor in a water class on Mark's night stand. He
had turned on only one lamp next to his computer on the other side of
the room. He had draped a handkerchief over the shade to mute the
light even more.

The bedspread and sheet had been neatly pulled
back. I almost expected to find mints placed carefully on the
pillows. I began to tear up slightly as I realized how remarkable
it was for an eighteen year old to pay so much attention to romantic
detail.

Mark spent the next hour proving what a fast learner he
was. I kissed his ear lobe and playfully tongued the outer
spirals of his ear. He did the same to me. I gently nibbled
where the under part of his chin meets his neck. Electric shocks
soared through my entire body as he repeated my action. I did
everything I could imagine to inch him to ever higher altitudes of
desire. His imitations of my performance pushed me to heights of
love and desire and lust that I could not have imagined even an instant
before each new caress.

Then he truly took the lead as he
caressed my balls and, eventually, my cock with mastery that he had not
even hinted existed during the morning. I fought hard to restrain
my climax on at least three occassions. We both wanted this to
last.

My mouth enjoyed his proud member and all the surrounding
areas. I elevated his legs as my tongue played along first his
crevice and then his now eager hole. I flicked my tongue back and
forth across it before slowly penetrating it just slightly. Of
course, it smelled of soap, but there was also a subtle taste of what I
knew to be the natural scent of Mark.

As I came up to kiss him
to allow him to taste himself for the first time, he eagerly sucked my
tongue into his mouth and ran his own tongue across mine as if
searching for his own remains. We finally separated.

"Take me," he whispered.

Next
to the flower on the night stand, as I had previously noticed, was a
bottle of liquid lubricant and a stack of condoms. The number of
condoms indicated that Mark had no concept of the recovery time of a
forty year old man, unless he intended to use four of them himself!

I
poured the lubricant into my left palm and thoroughly coated two of the
fingers of my right hand. Mark was very relaxed and somewhat wet
already from my oral activities. Consequently, my index finger
was able to penetrate and explore him much sooner than I would have
expected for a virgin. On the other hand, I didn't really know
whether Mark had previously practiced this maneuver on himself.

When
I added my middle finger to the index finger's ministrations, I heard my
son inhale quickly. I understood that signal and chose to use
just my middle finger by itself for a while.

I added additional
lube and tried two fingers, again. This time we had much better
success, although I entered him very slowly.

After just four or five full strokes with both fingers, Mark again whispered his command, "Take me!"

I
turned him onto his back, and he watched as I lubed my own cock before
rolling the condom onto my shaft. I made sure that the condom was
thoroughly lubricated too. I raised his legs to give me
access and took the unused pillow to put under his butt.

A hint
of a smile formed on his lips as I made contact with my target. I
struggled to maintain a glacier's pace as I began to probe him with the
same tool that was responsible for his creation. My desire and
the pull of gravity made it difficult to moved steadily, but I managed.

I
watched his face, vigilant for any sign of pain. The smile grew
broader. By the time I fully penetrated him, it had become a grin.

I
began the rhythmic, instinctual motion that all men know long before
they actually have an opportunity to use it. The grin on my son's
face became an expression that I can only describe as ecstasy.
Soon he was making the tell-tale sounds that indicated that I had
hit the right spot.

Watching his face and hearing his moans
aroused me even further, although my earlier concentration on a gentle
penetration had deferred some of my previous urgency. I could
last a while longer, I thought.

But suddenly I felt Mark tense,
squeezing my cock tightly. He screamed loudly. His sudden
climax seemed to have surprised him, because he brought his head
upwards quickly to watch the cum oozing and then squirting forcefully
from his penis.

The combination of the show that my son put on
for me and the additional pressure surrounding my own cock made my
rapid climax as much of a surprise to me as his had been to him a few
strokes before. I screamed with as much pleasure as my son.

As
each of our orgasms subsided, we both looked up from his cock and made
eye contact again. For some reason, we both started to laugh with
abandon. I don't think either of us actually thought the
situation was particularly funny. I suspect the laughter was just
a result of a previously unexperienced level of happiness.

One
of the advantages of man-on-man sex is that neither partner feels a
particular need to talk. We didn't. We kissed passionately,
and Mark rubbed the hair on my chest a few more times. Then he
got up from the bed and turned off the lone lamp. I felt his
absence, but my loneliness only lasted a matter of seconds before he
rejoined me in his bed.

We kissed again, and then we fell asleep
facing each other with our arms draped over the other. Father and
son slept deeply and without regrets.

I woke first in the
morning thanks to my older bladder. I got out of bed as gently as
possible so that I would not wake my son. I strode purposefully
into the bathroom. I stood in front of the toilet trying to will
my morning hard-on to wilt so that I could pee.

Just as
my flow began, Mark came in and stood next to me. Neither of us
said anything as he leaned against the wall so that he could point his
own hard cock into the bowl. Somehow he managed to push urine out
of his erect penis. I tried to remember whether I could
accomplish that feat as his age. His stiffness never subsided.

We
returned to bed, me facing the bed's side ready for a little more
sleep. Mark faced me with his arm across me, hand returning to
his caresses of my chest and his cock poking me in my butt cheek.

"Is it still night?" he asked.

Although bright sunshine streamed through the windows, I replied, "I think we can still call this night."

Mark's
pumping motions against my posterior clearly indicated how he wanted to
conclude the extended night, the one night that we would allow
ourselves to ignore taboos.

I retrieved the lube and pressed my
son's shoulder to indicate that he should turn onto his back. I
applied the lube to my left hand, returned the bottle to the night
stand and rubbed my hands together to coat both hands well and warm the
liquid.

Before applying it to Mark, I leaned over and took Marks
balls into my mouth, caressing them with my loving tongue. I
noticed more of his real scent this morning than I had last night, so
soon after our lengthy shower.

I released the egg shaped
orbs from my mouth, then applied my loving, oral attention to his
beautiful cock, although I probably shouldn't refer to it in those
flattering terms, since it is so similar to my own. Somehow, it looked much
more inviting on him, though.

I devoured him, consciously taking
note of each quality--its shape, its texture its rigidity and, again, the
scent. I wanted to be able to recall every detail of its
magnificence and of this experience. I reluctantly released it
and began rubbing it from tip to base with my slippery hands.

I
pulled the next in the stack of condoms from the nightstand, rolled it
over Mark's cock and applied more lubricant to the now sheathed cock.

"How do you want me?" I asked.

"The same way," he replied.

I
turned onto my back. Mark imitated my moves from hours before,
lifting my legs and placing a pillow under my buttocks. He
started to reach for the bottle of lubricant.

"I don't
need any more," I said. I knew that the lube that I had applied
to him would be sufficient for my somewhat more experienced hole.

He
started to enter me, attempting the same controlled procedure that I
had used with him. I fought an urge to grab his butt and pull him
fully into me in an instant. I realized, however, that this was
part of his education. The technique would be useful at other
times in his life with other men.

His self-restraint was
remarkable given his age. I'm sure that I could not have
practiced such compassion for my partner when I was still a teenager.
However, we all have our limits. Once he had reached the
half way point, his lust took over and he plunged into me the rest of
the way.

I welcomed him into me without any pain, despite the
aggressive pounding that he gave me less than twenty-four hours before.
I felt him consciously imitating my technique, exploring for my
magic button. He found my prostate and the sensations were
explosive.

My cock started to pour precum in a volume I had
never produced. Mark was obviously fascinated by that
development. He tried to bend enough to reach the tip of my cock
with his tongue, but of course he couldn't.

I ran my finger
along my cock and across my belly where it had dripped. When I
had collected a sufficient amount, I raised my finger to his mouth.
He lunged at it, circling the finger with his tongue. His
moan told me that he appreciated the treat.

I can't say that I
blame him for his appreciation of precum. Whoever it was who came
up with the expression, "nectar of the gods," must have said it after
enjoying a little slurp of this marvelous clear liquid.

I have
never cum without someone or something touching my cock, but I could
feel myself getting close. I did not want to cum until Mark did,
because like some other men, once I cum I get tighter and the process
of being fucked becomes painful.

I needn't have worried.
Mark started to cum inside me with the now familiar moans and
screams and groans. Even realizing what was happening and the
excitement within me that the event caused, I still did not cum.

My
son lowered his hand to my cock while he was still moaning. It
took only two or three strokes for me to begin to empty the load that
had amazingly collected since the night before. What a wonderful
machine the male body is!

My first blast landed right above my
son's upper lip. His tongue shot out to scoop it into his mouth,
eliciting another moan. The rest of my impressive load settled
onto my torso.

He eventually collapsed on top of me, and it felt
good to be supporting his full weight. Even though he was still
inside me, I could sense that our relationship was beginning its
transition back to what would be more typical for a father and his son.

Finally, Mark pushed himself off of me without a parting kiss. He stood next to the bed smiling down at me.

"Is it time to get up, Dad?" he asked.

"Yes, the night is finished, but it was great," I answered.

"Thanks for agreeing to it, Dad."

I just smiled in return. He knew that I was grateful for the experience, too. There was no need to tell him.

Mark
walked across the hall with a sprightly bounce to his step. I
heard him turn on the shower. I gather myself to return to my own
bedroom and my own shower. Today was a work day I remembered.

My son stuck his head back into the room, the sound of the shower still present in the background.

"Dad, don't worry. I'll never tell anyone about this."

"No,
Mark," I contradicted him. "I've spent twenty years hiding an
important part of myself from the person I love more than anyone in the
world, and I'll continue doing that. I don't want you to have to
do the same thing. When you find that very lucky person to love
forever, I don't want you to have to hide anything important from him.
I think he'll understand."

My son flashed that winning grin and returned to his shower. My life went on.

------------------------------

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